


Pride and Alchemy

by rewmariewrites



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005)
Genre: Adult Alphonse Elric, Adult Edward Elric, Adult Winry Rockbell, Alphonse Has a Body, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Automail, BAMF Riza Hawkeye, Bisexual Nina Tucker, Edward Elric Swears, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Alphonse Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, Multi, Oblivious Edward Elric, Oblivious Roy Mustang, POV Alternating, POV Edward Elric, Pining, Sassy Alphonse Elric, Sickly Alphonse Elric, Tags will be updated as the fic is updated, Teen Nina Tucker, alchemy is real but not talked abt a lot, except for in front of Al, i love Nina so much honestly, minor found family, mostly - Freeform, the kids band together to deal with granny, what time period is this even set in i have no clue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rewmariewrites/pseuds/rewmariewrites
Summary: It’s a truth universally acknowledged that an unmarried officer in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a spouse.





	1. Scene 1: Longbourn House

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so! this is gonna be fun! i don't have all of it written yet, but I do have 3 chapters (+2 interludes) written, so at least I have a bit of a backlog. i have too many WIPs and too little time, but I don't abandon works!!! they will all get attention eventually!!!
> 
> enjoy :)

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that an unmarried officer in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a spouse.

Or, at least that’s what Granny Pinako keeps telling them.

Ed’s making his way back towards the house, firmly entrenched in his copy of _First Impressions of Popular and Advanced Alchemical Theories -_ while also managing to stick his _entire_ goddamn foot in the stream by the duck’s shed _(for fuck’s sake)_ \- when he hears Granny and Winry’s conversation through the workshop window.

“Have ya’ heard that Netherfield’s been rented out?” Granny asks over the whine of her electric screwdriver.

Winry just grunts, concentrating heavily on the delicate work she’s doing on the automail’s knuckle-joints. Ed agrees with her apathy wholeheartedly - what good has ever come from paying attention to Granny's inane fuckin’ chatter?

(Though, if he doesn’t keep up with their gossip, they’ll make fun of him at dinner  _again._ As quietly as the ever-grinding gears of his automail will let him, he takes a seat below the window where no one can see him. He keeps his book firmly in hand; if they happen to see him out here, he doesn't want to _look_ like he’s listening to their dumb fuckin’ gossip, even if that’s exactly what he’s doing. He has a mysterious and badass image to maintain, after all.)

“Don’t ya’ want to know who’s rented it?” Granny needles.

Winry sighs, but the soft noises of her tinkering with the automail's internal mechanism don't stop. “You want to tell me, so I doubt I can stop you,” she says eventually.

“Hawkeye - a young lieutenant from Central - came down on Monday with friends, all looking like they were planning to stay a while. It could be good business!”

Winry heaves another huge sigh just as the inside door to the workshop creaks open, and two distinct sets of footsteps clamour into the room.

“Are you talking about Netherfield?!” Nina exclaims, tools clattering as she - presumably - tears around the room.

 _“Careful!”_ Winry hisses, “I won’t tell you again Nina, stop sitting on the goddamn workbench! There are _sharp_ and _pointy_ tools in here, and I won’t hesitate to use them on you!”

“But _Winry,”_ Nina whines, uncaring, “they get _five thousand a year_ from the military!”

“What does that have to do with my _tools,”_   Winry mutters, even as Al murmurs quiet placations from where he’s perched by the window above Ed’s head, and Granny sets down her screwdriver with a dramatic clatter.

Ed can just _see_ Nina nodding knowingly, as if she’s the goddamn ringmaster to their sad, gossipy circus. “And they’re single _for sure._ Kitty said that Charlotte said that _none_ of them had wedding rings. _”_

Winry just keeps muttering. Ed can’t really hear what she’s saying, but it sounds suspiciously like _wrenches,_ which is fuckin’ terrifying _._ Granny, on the other hand, must be rubbing her hands together in maniacal glee for all the excitement Ed can hear in her voice.

“Well, it’s a lucky thing to happen for us, them coming here.”

“What do you mean, Granny?” Al asks, ever the polite one.

“One of them has to marry one of you. They’re all single and wealthy, you’re all single and gorgeous, it’s a match made in heaven. We need more business, and a military contract’s exactly the way to get it.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Ed mutters, barely audible to even himself. He re-opens his book and pulls it close to his face, wondering if he can somehow smother himself in the pages. There’s _no way_ he’s marrying some asswipe of a military stranger, with their pompous fuckin’ blue suits and their pristine-ass white gloves, just for the possibility of a dumb fuckin’ military contract for the family business. Granny can _suck it._

“Oh, sure, yeah, _that’s_ why they’re here. It’s not so they can continue to persecute the people they’ve _already oppressed_ into near-obsolescence, it’s so they can all find spouses and settle down and live happily ever after,” Winry says, all sarcasm and sass. Ed’s so proud of her. She _definitely_ learned that from him.

“Exactly!” For all the many things she’s exceptional at - raising orphans being one of them - Granny’s never exactly been great at parsing sarcasm. “So, we have to go visit them at Netherfield, and soon.”

“Oh, _yes!”_ Nina sends something clattering again in her excitement.

“Oh for _fuck’s-_ there’s no need, because I’ve already met them.” Winry snaps.

It’s like the whole room stops.

(Ed stifles a heavy sigh - his whole family’s full of a buncha fuckin’ drama queens.)

Just as quickly as the silence descended, chaos rises.

Al says, ever gentle, “There’s no need for _swearing,_ Win-”

 _“You met them?! And you didn’t-”_ Nina shrieks.

“Have ya’ got no compassion for my _nerves -”_ Pinako scolds.

Ed tries, with all the enthusiasm he can muster, to _truly_ smother himself in his book.

(He’s _this_ close to snorting out a laugh at their fuckin’ dramatics, and if they catch him out here after all that fuckin’ caterwauling they’ve been doing they’ll make him weigh in on the whole dumbass situation, and he won’t be able to do it with a straight face. Not that he’s been _straight_ a day of his goddamn life, mind you, but he’d rather not have to have an opinion about marriage and shit. Lust is one thing, but marriage takes _love,_ and the only thing he’s ever loved like that is science. Last he checked, you can’t marry science. Technically.)

“Are they nice? Are they _handsome?_ What am I saying, o f course they are, they’re from the _military._ T hey’re _trained_ to be nice and buff and stuff." Well, at least we know what Nina’s priorities are.

“With five thousand a year, it probably wouldn’t matter if they have _asses_ for faces, so long as they gave us a bit of that dirty fuckin’ military money.” Apparently Ed just can’t fuckin’ help himself.

There’s a quiet scuffle, and immediately Ed can feel Al and Nina peering at him from the window above his head. He doesn’t look at them, because that means he cares what they think, which means they win.

Well, it means they win more than they already have. He’s already lost because he's sitting here, listening, having said _way_ too fuckin’ much about the entire goddamn situation, just because he couldn’t help being a petty bitch.

 _“Language,_ brother.”

“Ohmygod you were _listening to us!_ You _care!”_ See? Now Nina will never let it go.

“Well, y’all can be sure that I’ll be giving my consent to whichever one of them wants to wed and bed any of ya’,” Granny declares magnanimously.

Ed and Winry speak basically in sync:

“Oh, _thanks_ Granny-”

“Tell us how you _really_   fuckin’ feel about us-”

Nina interrupts, already fed up with Winry and Ed’s righteous indignation. “Are they coming to the ball tomorrow, though?!”

Winry pauses for a moment, as if wondering whether giving Nina the information she wants is worth it. Ed gets it - refusing Nina things is one of the greatest pleasures of his life, if only because of the impressive lengths she’ll go to in order to get what she wants.

His hair  _still_ isn’t the same from that time she stained it with beet juice. Brat.

Winry, as if she can hear Ed’s thought process, gives in, if begrudgingly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they will. They were walking by the dance hall looking pretty interested.”

Nina’s shriek could deafen a dog. “Oh can I borrow your party dress, Winry _please?”_

“Nina, it’s my only one. You have your own.”

“Yeah but I wore that to the _last_ ball! And it’s not like I can ask Ed and Al for theirs, because they wear _pants_ most of the time.”

“The Lieutenant and her friends are new in town, they won’t notice if you’re wearing an old dress -”

“Yeah but everyone _else_ will, and then what?! I’ll have to get my _revenge_ for the petty gossip they’ll spread, and _no one_ wants that, _no -”_

Ed looks up as Al leans further out the window, glad for the excuse to ignore the fuckin’ ruckus inside. “Whaddaya say, Al? Are you excited by the prospect of a dumb fuckin’ party?”

Al smiles, all happy golden eyes and shining white-gold hair. He’s a little paler than Ed would like, his brown skin a little ashy and drawn, but it’s warm enough outside that he doesn’t feel the need to usher Al inside towards the warm hearth.

“Well, brother,” Al murmurs with a smirk, reaching down to ruffle a hand through the loose pieces of Ed’s poorly braided hair, “society has its claims on us all. As long as I have the morning to myself, I’ll consider a short interval of recreation and amusement to be quite desirable.”

 _What a pompous fuckin’ prick, usin’ all those big-ass words,_ Ed thinks, but he can’t help but laugh, even as he smacks Al’s hand away. Hearing Al laugh with him, loud and happy while the girls shriek inside, is one of the best sounds in this world.


	2. Scene 2: Meryton Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They step inside the door of the dance hall, and Ed immediately breaks out into a nervous sweat.

They step inside the door of the dance hall, and Ed immediately breaks out into a nervous sweat. 

The shitty, folky live band is deafeningly loud in an attempt to be heard over the sounds of stomping, shrieking laughter, and drunken roaring; it’s only by virtue of his family crowded tightly around him as if anticipating his sudden and intense desire to get the  _ fuck  _ outta there, that Ed doesn’t immediately turn and run for the fuckin’ hills. The entire family, all five of them, shuffles quickly over to a table that’s been haphazardly pushed off to the side of the hall in one blessedly relatively quiet corner. 

“I literally can’t breathe, this dress is so tight.” Nina gasps once they've laid their claim at the table. She has an excited flush high on her cheeks: probably from wearing a dress that's at least one or two growth-spurts too small.

(Ed remembers when that dress used to be Winry’s. When they would  come to this dance hall, to laugh and twirl until the sky was streaked orange and blue with morning light, and they would all walk home hand-in-hand. Ed would have Winry on one side, Al on the other, and behind them would be Winry’s parents and Granny, alongside Trisha and -)

“My toes hurt.” Winry stage-whispers to Nina conspiratorially, interrupting Ed's thoughts. The both of them giggle and straighten each others’ hair, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of their skirts. 

Al bumps Ed gently with his shoulder, giving him a carefully considerate look. “Are you alright, brother?”

Ed plasters on a dumb smile, like he’s genuinely fuckin’ excited to be here, in this stinking sweat-pit, when there’s a perfectly good pile of alchemical texts waiting for him at home. 

(If Al is happy here at this dance - and he  _ is _ happy here, even if he’d never admit it out loud to Ed - then Ed can suck it the fuck up and stick it out for a few hours.)

“You know,” Ed grins, masterfully deflecting Al’s concern, “if every person in this goddamn room isn’t in love with you by the end of the night, then I’m an absolute shit fuckin’ judge of beauty.”

Al blushes - cheeks and ears visibly darkening - and pushes a stray lock of white-gold hair behind his ear with dark fingers. He’s let Nina pull it back into some sort of intricate braid at the base of his skull that’s already half-falling out - he’ll need Ed’s extra hair tie within the next twenty minutes, or Ed will eat his goddamn automail. 

“Or, maybe you’re a poor judge of people,” Al grumbles.

Ed quirks one eyebrow, giving Al a tired look. They’ve argued about this before,  _ at length. _ “People’re easy to judge,” Ed insists.

“They’re not all bad!” Al has always had _ far _ too much faith in humanity, even when humanity keeps proving him wrong. Case in point:  _ Ed.  _ Ed’s a pretty fuckin’ shitty person, all things considered, but Al thinks the sun shines outta Ed's  ass. 

That’s okay, though; Ed is more than happy to continue being the cynical bastard of the family, especially if it preserves Al’s optimistic sense of wonder.

“People’re all humourless asswipes, in my limited experience.” Ed murmurs, tugging the sleeve of his red jacket a little further down his right arm, until it overlaps with the gloves he wears to disguise his automail. It's not like everyone doesn’t already know it’s there, but - well, when he wears the gloves and the long sleeves there’s less of a chance he’ll punch one of the aforementioned asswipes for looking at it funny. 

Al always gets  mad when he punches people, even when they deserve it.

But, right now, Al is looking at him and smiling, so Ed can’t help but soften just a little. 

Al grabs Ed’s flesh hand and squeezes hard when he notices Ed relax. “One of these days, brother, someone will catch your eye, and then you’ll have to watch your tongue.”

Ed tugs his flesh hand gently out of Al’s and reaches up to give him a firm two-fingered bop on the forehead in retaliation. 

Al scrunches up his face, eyes squinting almost shut, mouth contorting, and Ed laughs out loud at the sight. “If I ever fall in love I’ll eat my fuckin’ automail. You’re all I need, anyways.”

(Contrary to popular belief, Ed knows it’s un-fuckin’-likely that he’ll ever find someone who will love him, seeing as he’s cantankerous as fuck  _ and _ missing two whole limbs. Not to mention, he's  probably unhealthily obsessed with his brother’s health and safety. He would say he's working on it, but... he doesn't actually care what other people think. Al is his his whole entire world.) 

“Well, I’d certainly like to see you try to maim your automail in front of Winry,” is Al’s prim and petulant response.

_ “Ohmygod _ they’re here, guys, they’re  _ here.”  _ Nina squeals, running up to start slapping all the parts of everyone she can reach, pushing and prodding them until they obligingly turn towards the entrance of the hall. The whole place has gone awkwardly quiet - even the shitty fuckin’ band has forgotten to keep playing - as everyone turns to stare at the newcomers.

Unsurprisingly, all three of the newcomers are in military blues. They look like two men and a woman, all of them standing in the same stuffy at-ease position which makes them look threatening and impressive all at once. 

Or, well, that’s how Nina describes it. Ed’s personally of the opinion that it just makes him want to punch them in their shitty, institutionally racist faces even more than he does by default, but tomato-tom _ ah _ to.

(There’s a simmering rage right under the surface of his skin that surges to boiling when he looks at these military officers, and he has to clench his fists until the gears in his right hand creak with the force of it. These people, standing here in this  dance hall,  looking to have  _ fun,  _ are directly responsible for the death of his culture. These people, by virtue of their very involvement with the military, are responsible for the ways in which hundreds of thousands of Ishvalan people were  _ burned alive.  _

It’s bad enough that the next town over has military permanently stationed there;  _ too close to the Ishvalan border,  _ they say,  _ there’s no threat, but better to be safe than sorry,  _ as if the dead can rise and take revenge on those who unjustly murdered them.

Ed wishes they could.

Ed takes a deep breath in. Holds it. Lets it out. Carefully - so carefully - he unclenches his fists, and stretches out his fingers. He can hate these people, hate them with  _ everything _ he has, but he has to play nice, if only for tonight. He has to behave himself so that Al can have a good time. So they can get home safely. 

He and Al could very well be the last two Ishvalans on this earth - Ishvala knows they've never met any others like them, at least not in Resembool. It would be a shame if Ed’s temper got them both killed in this dance hall in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.)

The guy on the right has blonde-ish hair, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and he’s fuckin’ tall. He’s _really_ fuckin’ tall, actually, and Ed feels a vicious sort of jealousy zing through him at the realization; he tugs _hard_ on the end of his braid to keep himself from muttering about milk and growth spurts and delayed hormonal release. He _also_  gives into the temptation to step on Al’s foot when he can feel Al shaking with laughter beside him. A sharp glare confirms his suspicions - Al saw the _exact_ moment Ed realized the guy was Really Tall, and is _laughing_ ‘cause Ed is _maybe slightly smaller than average_ , and Al _knows_ he has _Feelings_ about it, the _absolute bastard._

The Really Tall Guy surveys the room like he’s at a fuckin’ buffet, eyes lingering briefly on Winry before snapping over to some of the more  _ well endowed  _ women in the room.  Gross . That pervert doesn’t deserve Winry - Winry’s  great, and an  awesome  mechanic, and muscles are  _ way  _ better than boobs, anyways.

The lady in the middle is small and stoic-looking, blonde hair pulled up in a practical sort of bun that fans out a little like a bird’s tail at the top. That exact style will be fashionable in the village by tomorrow, and Nina’ll be talking about it for a  month,  refusing to leave Ed or Al alone until she’s practiced it on them at least a dozen times each. 

Ed’s just about to look away when he sees the military lady notice Al and -  _ well _ , isn’t that interesting? Even though her face doesn’t move much, Ed can tell that she looks like she’s just seen a literal fuckin’ angel descend from the heavens, all wrapped up in a neat little Al-shaped package. The Really Tall Guy leans down to say something into her ear, and she plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and crushes it beneath her heel without ever looking away from Al or wiping that subtly dumbstruck look off her face. That’s it - she’s a goner.

Ed might approve if she wasn’t military, or if Al needed or even wanted his approval for that sort of thing. 

The man on the lady’s left is also tall - taller than the blonde lady, shorter than Really Tall Guy, but still _way_ taller than Ed, the _bastard_ \- and his dark hair is shocking against his pale skin. He’s fuckin’ gorgeous, with cheekbones that could cut steel and a casual aura of _I could kill you in 50 different ways without even looking like I’m trying_. He’s loose-limbed and lazy-postured like only truly dangerous people are, and - and _wow,_ Ed needs to look away for a minute to subdue the furious blush that’s trying to make its way past the collar of his shirt. His skin isn’t quite as dark as Al’s, which means fuckin’ everyone’ll be able to tell that his body’s reacting _(without his permission)_ to that dumb, gross, sexy fuckin’ military guy. 

By the time Ed’s gotten control of himself and turned around to face his family again, the music has started up and everyone is raucous and loud once more, pushing and shoving and shimmying. Nina’s friends - Kitty and Charlotte - seem to have suddenly appeared, and they’re shrieking about something over in the corner, sending flirtatious, longing glances towards the door. 

Ed’s about to go over there and lecture all of them about age differences and power dynamics when Winry steps neatly in his way.

“Oh, let them have fun, Ed. They don’t mean anything by it, they’re just… teenagers. Horny for everything that moves.”

Ed blushes hotly. “That’s - they’re not -  _ Nina’s _ not -”

Winry raises an eyebrow, amused and unflinching. “Have we met the same Nina? She would ravish almost any man in here in an instant, and probably some of the women, too. She doesn’t seem to be picky, in all honesty.”

Ed splutters in righteous indignation and complete fuckin’ denial - his baby sister _does not sex._ Well - that is - she’s allowed to do whatever she wants because her body is hers and she would _murder_ anyone who suggested otherwise, but he doesn’t want to _hear about it_ or _acknowledge it, thanks._

“Don’t you remember when I was that young, Ed? It’s lucky I like girls, because birth control is still  _ wildly  _ unreliable. Honestly, you’re the same way with those boys you tend to pick up and drop like soiled handkerchiefs,” Winry muses, and Ed chokes on his own fuckin’ spit.

There's a beat of silence where Winry, Ed, and Al all just look at each other. Ed's sure his face is full of righteous indignation, while Winry and Al look like they're a breath away from laughing themselves into hysterics. Their eyes flick towards each other - they make eye contact - ah, there they go: Winry and Al  _guffaw_ in a way that draws attention from all corners of the room.  Ed doesn't think that  _ anyone _ is  _ physically capable _ of being  _ less impressed with a situation, holy shitfuck. _

He must be able to sense Ed’s  _ intense fuckin’ despair _  after a couple minutes of raucous laughter because, even though he’s still chuckling, Al bumps Ed’s shoulder again before kicking Winry in the shin with the toe of his boot. 

When she finally calms down - wiping  _ tears _ from her  _ eyes,  _ the  _ harpy _ \- she takes pity on Ed and changes the subject. “Oh sweet Ishvala, okay, which of the painted peacocks is our Hawkeye?”

Nina, as if summoned from the ether by the amorphous possibility of gossip, all but materializes behind Winry with Kitty and Charlotte following close behind. “She’s in the middle, with her subordinate - Havoc - on her right.”

“And the guy with the creepy smile?”

“That’s her good friend, Colonel Mustang.”

“Poor guy,” Ed offers. The smile really is creepy, in a passive-aggressive, fake kind of way. Ed hates it on principle, but it is genuinely pretty unsettling. It's like - like - when inventors try to give automata human faces, but they just don't turn out _quite_ human enough. It's so close to being right, but so obviously wrong, so it just becomes nightmare fuel.

“Uh,  _ no,  _ poor is definitely not the right word," __ Nina scoffs, twirling a stray, dark curl around her finger, “He gets  _ ten thousand _ a year, and owns half of Derbyshire. He lives in  _ Pemberly.” _

“Holy fuck.”

“And he’s a  _ confirmed bachelor,  _ so you know what that means. No luck for me, but you can climb that like a tree, Ed,” Nina grins, and the glint in her eye is entirely mischievous.

_ “Nina,” _ Ed and Al say in unison, scandalized and intrigued by the gossip. Nina just flips her hair over her shoulder and grins even wider.

_ “I know,”  _ she declares, pleased with herself.

“Um - I’m so sorry to interrupt?” a quiet voice asks from behind them, and they all whip around to find a small and portly middle-aged man - Lucas, the mayor - with Mustang and Hawkeye lurking close behind him. They must have lost Havoc along the way; Ed thinks he can maybe see the guy somewhere in the sea of people on the dance floor. 

Granny, not one to be left out, shoves her way through all her children until she’s standing at the front of them, between Ed and Al, almost nose-to-nose with Lucas.

“Um, I would like to introduce you and your - uh - children to the newest members of our community. Please meet, uh, Colonel Roy Mustang and Lieutenant - um - Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Sirs, meet Pinako Rockbell, of uh,  _ Rockbell’s Auto-Mechanical Surgeries and Services _ .” Lucas mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards the military personnel who are currently dwarfing him (even Hawkeye - even  _ Ed -  _ is taller than Lucas), then towards Granny.

Granny gives a little nod, and Al gives a small bow while Winry, Nina, Kitty, and Charlotte curtsy. Ed doesn’t do anything - he doesn’t respect the military, not after what they did to Ishval. If they have a problem they can  _ fuckin’ suck it. _

Mustang catches on and his eyes narrow a little, creepy little smile never wavering. Hawkeye, on the other hand, is completely caught up in staring at Al. 

(Anyone else probably wouldn’t be able to tell, but after twenty years of dealing with Al’s fuckin'  _ annoying _ habit of hiding pain, Ed’s got a pretty good basis for reading microexpressions. The point is, Ed can tell that Hawkeye’s already  _ gone _ over Al, even if no-one else can.)

“...my oldest ward, Edward Elric, and his brother, Alphonse Elric. Then there’s my own granddaughter Winry Rockbell, and my youngest ward, Nina Tucker,” Granny is saying.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Hawkeye says  _ directly to Al,  _ and -  _ there we go,  _ Al has finally noticed Hawkeye’s intense fuckin’ attention. 

It would be pathetic if it wasn’t so fuckin’ adorable, the way they look at each other through their eyelashes. Ed can tell Al is blushing  _ hard _ because of the way Al’s fidgeting with the cufflinks on his sleeves. 

Granny and Lucas have lumbered off a few steps, talking quietly about the influx of sub-par steel components that have been flooding the markets in town (which is  _ ‘unacceptable, Lucas, don’t ya’ give a rat’s ass about quality product?’) _ _,_ which means that the rest of them have all been left together. 

Alone. 

And it’s  _ really fuckin’ awkward. _

“How do you like it here, Lieutenant?” Fuck, you know things are really fuckin’ dire when  _ Ed’s _ the one trying to make small talk. Especially when shoving all his rage down to his toes makes him feel like he wants to vomit, and makes his voice come out all choked.

“I like it very much,” she replies mildly, eyes  _ still on Al.  _ Ed knows that Al’s real pretty and all, but  _ wow.  _ Ed’s never had this much trouble getting someone to look at him before.

“I - uh - I hear the library at Netherfield is one of the best in the country, if you ignore its lack of alchemical texts.” Ed tries again, rocking slightly forward on the balls of his feet, like that’ll catch Hawkeye’s eye.

It doesn’t. She’s looking at Al, who’s looking at her, but at least Al has the fuckin’ decency to try and look like he’s  _ not _ looking at her. 

The tips of Hawkeye’s ears are slightly pink, which for her is probably the equivalent of blushing bright fuckin’ red, and the index finger of her right hand is rubbing slowly at a seam near her hip. It’s where a gun would be, going by the wear-marks on her uniform. At least the motion looks nervous rather than threatening.

“Yes, it fills me with guilt,” she manages eventually, “I’m not much of a an alchemist, or a reader, you see. I like being out of doors.” She pauses a moment, then the tips of her ears go ever-slightly redder, and she hastens to say, “I mean, I  _ can _ read, of course-” 

Winry,  _ Ishvala bless her heart, _ steps in before Hawkeye can manage to physically hurt herself with her words.  “Colonel Mustang, I hear that the library at Pemberly is entirely astonishing.”

“Ah, thank you. It is the work of many generations. We have an abundance of alchemical texts, as well.” Mustang nods sharply, still smiling. He’s looking at Ed out of the corner of his eye in a way he obviously thinks Ed won’t notice, like Ed’s  incompetent at reading social cues  or something. Bastard.

“I wish I could read more, but there always seems to be so many other things to do,” Al says quietly to Hawkeye, which is a fuckin’  _ lie.  _ Al’s sick so much that he hardly does anything  _ but _ read, the fucker.

It seems to comfort Hawkeye, though, going by the way she’s beaming at Al. 

Well, her lips twitch upwards, so that counts as beaming. Probably. “That’s exactly what I meant,” she murmurs.

Nina takes that exact moment to break away from her friends and bounce up to Winry, all flying curls and lace. “Winry, the regiment is arriving next week! They’re going to be stationed in the village!” 

“That’s nice, dear. Tell me more about it?” Winry grimaces a little at Ed over her shoulder as she leads Nina and her friends back to their table. Ed grimaces back - more fuckin’ military in the area is never a good fuckin’ sign, no matter how obsessed Nina is with the military aesthetic. 

(Thank fuckin’ Ishvala - and all his fuckin’ names and mountains - that Nina knows the  _ minute  _ details of what the military did in Ishval. She’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to knowing things - especially things people might gossip about - so the minute she gained two Ishvalan brothers she dived into every Ishval-related piece of literature she could find. 

Even though most of the time she ignores what she knows in favour of a pretty face in a tight uniform, at least she  _ knows. _ And she’ll never forget. None of them will.)

When Ed turns back to the conversation at hand, it’s just in time to hear Hawkeye ask, “May I have the honour of this dance?” 

Al nods shyly and off they go, into the seething masses of people, leaving Ed alone. 

With Mustang. 

Attractive, creepy Mustang.

“Do you dance, Colonel?” Ed asks. God, he fuckin’ hates small-talk. Ed would gladly dance if it meant he didn't have to make stupid fuckin' conversation for the rest of the night.

“Not if I can help it,” is Mustang’s smooth response. He’s still not-quite looking at Ed, and that creepy fuckin’ smile is still on his face. 

It makes Ed want to punch him in the face, just a little. 

Okay, a  _ lot.  _ But Al says that punching things isn’t a ‘healthy’ way to deal with uncomfortable situations, so Ed just nods awkwardly and kneads absently through his jacket at the skin surrounding the automail port that makes up his shoulder, which aches like a  _ bitch. _

They just… stand in silence, after that. Neither one of them says anything, or even makes a move to, and it’s the worst. It’s worse than the worst - it’s the  _ literally most awful thing ever _ and Ed is  _ never _ coming to another town party  _ so long as he lives.  _ He gets so desperate, in fact, that he starts to willingly listen to Nina’s conversation with Winry, Granny, Kitty, and Charlotte.

“- officers, lots of officers!” She’s saying, and her friends are nodding sagely, like she’s lecturing them on something as serious as the fundamental laws of alchemy.

“How will we meet them?” Kitty asks.

“Oh, it’s  _ easy.  _ You just walk up and down in front of them, then drop your handkerchief.” Nina even  _ acts it out, _ oh god, fuckin’ murder Ed right where he stands because this is  _ so _ fuckin’ embarassing. “Then they pick it up, and you say, ‘Oh, thank you sir’, and blush prettily, and then you’re introduced!”

“We may have raised one of the most viciously flirt-driven girls in the entire county.” Winry says to Granny, amazed.

“Oh, she’s not so bad. I remember the time when I liked a military-man myself-” Granny starts.

“Oh god, Granny, no-” Winry interrupts to moan, burying her face in her hands.

“Well, that’s alright, y’all’ve already heard the stories.” Granny winks, and Ed shudders. They  _ have  _ heard the stories.  _ All _ of them, in technicolour detail. Ed  _ never _ wanted to think about Granny like that, and now he can  _ never forget.  _ “The point is, if a young officer - who makes at least four thousand a year, mind you - wants to marry one of ya', I’ll not say no. It’ll be good for business.”

That’s so  _ fuckin’ embarrassing.  _ Granny’s talking about marrying them off like she’s selling fuckin’ automail, out here in the open, in the middle of a fuckin’ town function. It’s one thing to talk like that at home, where everyone knows that the only way to keep  _ Rockbell’s _ in the family is to marry into some sort of money, but it’s bad fuckin’ manners to talk about it in public. Even  _ Ed  _ knows that much, and he’s a walkin’ fuckin’ disaster.

A quick glance at Mustang shows that Mustang  _ definitely  _ overheard that entire unfortunate fuckin’ discussion, and Ed immediately beats a hasty fuckin’ retreat. He has absolutely no desire to hear about Mustang’s opinions on that little shitshow.

 

~

 

It feels like  _ hours _ later when Al and Hawkeye finally stop dancing. Al has gone to find water or something, and Ed has been appointed designated purse-watcher and table-saver because of his lack of interest in dancing, so he’s planted firmly at their little table in the corner. 

He must be well hidden, though, because Hawkeye and Mustang come to stand almost directly beside the table and don’t even fuckin’ notice him.

“Colonel, you should dance. I hate to see you standing by yourself like this when I know how beautifully you dance.” Hawkeye sounds  _ much _ more regal and put-together when she’s not busy staring into Al’s eyes, even if the tips of her ears are still red.

Mustang is already shaking his head, shaggy black hair flying. “You know I detest it. I may pretend to socialize well, but I draw the line at dancing.”

Ed can’t see the expression on Hawkeye’s face but she sighs longsufferingly, like this is a well-worn argument, and changes tactics. “I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place in my life.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome person in the room.”

“Oh, he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” Hawkeye’s tone is matter-of-fact, but her words are singing a different tune. She’s borderline swooning. “His older brother, Edward, is quite beautiful as well.”

Ed immediately blushes as red as his fuckin’ jacket. 

Fuckin’ - 

\- he’s just - 

\- he’s - 

\- okay,  _ you know what _ \- 

Ed knows  _ exactly _ what he looks like, thank you very much. He’s considered pretty fuckin’ hot, in the scheme of things. One dumbass from town called his hair  _ champagne made solid _ , and a different dumbass called his eyes  _ liquid amber _ (but he was a fuckin’ idiot, with  _ shit _ for brains, who  _ didn’t like alchemy) _ , so Ed has quantifiable evidence that he’s not  just being full of himself when he says he’s pretty damn sexy.

Well - okay, he should probably increase his sample sizes, because small sample sizes lead to skewed data, and Al always calls him out on shit like that. It’s just - it’s a fuckin’  _ troublesome _ process. The town guys are all  _ internalized homophobia _ and  _ toxic masculinity _ and  _ whiny,  _ and Ed doesn’t have the patience for that shit. 

Regardless, all of them have thought he's pretty hot thus far, so it must be at least partially true.

Besides, Ed’s definitely used his looks to his advantage a time or two. A toss of the hair here and a flutter of the eyelashes there gets things done pretty fuckin’ fast, after all. But to hear it laid out just like that, that he’s  _ beautiful -  _ shit, it’s flattering.

But  _ then. _

“Mm.” Mustang says, “He’s perfectly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

Ed blinks in stunned fuckin’ surprise. 

_ Well then.  _ It looks like he  _ does  _ need to increase his sample sizes after all, since obviously  _ someone _ is pretty fuckin’ unimpressed. Ed’s not usually all that concerned with how people think he looks, but that fuckin' stung his pride a little. What a fuckin’  _ asshole  _ for saying it like  _ that. Tolerable? _ Fuck you, Ed is  _ sexy _ as  _ fuck. _

“You had better return to your partner and enjoy his smiles, for you are wasting your time with me,” Mustang prompts, prodding Hawkeye with his elbow. It doesn’t take more than that to convince her to move - rather quickly - towards where Al is leaning against the wall of the dance hall, turning  to give a small smile to Mustang as she moves away.

Winry, as if from nowhere, drops into the seat on Ed’s left. “Well,  _ fuck _ that guy,” she declares, “He’s such an asshole it probably counts as an  _ omen _ to be liked by him.”

“Don’t worry,” Ed says, leaning backwards until he’s tipped himself up onto the back two feet of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t dance with him for half of Derbyshire.”

That makes Winry laugh so loudly that even Ed has to grin.

 

~

 

Even though Ed is only  _ perfectly tolerable,  _ it seems like he and his family are still plenty fuckin’ good enough to hang around. It feels like three entire days have passed since they got to the dance hall, but Al and Hawkeye have finally taken a break from dancing, and everyone but Nina and her friends have converged at the table again. Granny is shamelessly bragging about all of them, and it’s taking every sparse ounce of social grace that’s been drilled into him by Al to keep Ed from smashing his head on the table until the sweet release of death takes him away from this nightmare.

“... Al is considered the beauty of the county, ya’ know.”

“Granny, please!” Al exclaims, blushing fiercely and putting a gentle, restraining hand on Granny’s arm. 

Not that it helps. Granny’s had one or two (or seven) drinks, and there’s no stopping her now. 

“When he was only  _ fifteen _ there was a young gal so in love with him that I was sure her parents would come to us offerin’ marriage. She wrote him some  _ very _ pretty poetry. The verses-”

“That’s probably why their teen romance ended. I wonder who discovered poetry’s power to annihilate love?” Ed interrupts, knowing that if someone doesn’t make Granny cease and desist  _ right fuckin’ now _ he’s gonna be finding a dead body somewhere in their house tomorrow. 

(Al might be mild-mannered, but he can be fuckin’ vicious when you piss him off. He makes sure you know it’s  _ him _ who did it, too, with none of that anonymous subterfuge bullshit. Al is the nicest person anyone will ever meet, so they never think he has a temper . Ed, having been on the receiving end of a very large number of revenge-pranks, _knows better._  Al has only gotten more mild-mannered as he's aged, but Ed was there in the dark days. He knows; he _remembers._ Nina had to learn it from someone, and it  _definitely_ wasn't from Ed or Winry.)

“I thought poetry was the food of love.” Mustang muses. It’s the first time he’s willingly contributed to a conversation - well, a conversation that  _ Ed’s _ been a part of, at least - all night.

“Like - okay, sure, poetry might help an established relationship. Almost  everything’s good for things that are already strong. But if it’s only a thin, reedy sort of relationship - like, you know how seedlings are just barely hangin’ onto the soil? A new relationship is just like that: it barely has any roots. One sonnet could have as much power as a pressurized stream of water, and it’ll wash the whole relationship-plant away. It’s way too intense, and it’ll make the whole thing collapse before it's even able to become anything,” Ed rambles. 

He gets a little caught up in the metaphor, which means he’s gesturing so widely that his automail must be visible between the cuff of his glove and the sleeve of his coat.  Scowling a little at forgetting himself so easily, he restrains himself and tugs his jacket back into place. Fuck, he hopes everyone is drunk enough to pass it off as a bracelet or something - he  _really_ doesn't want to field any 'well-meaning' questions about prosthesis or nerve-connection pain tonight.

Mustang shifts infinitesimally closer in his seat, eyes narrowed slightly with what Ed assumes is either poorly-concealed disdain, or poorly-concealed interest. It’s a toss-up, really. “So, what do you recommend to encourage affection?”

Ed fiddles fake-absently with the end of his braided hair as he pretends to think, using every  _ champagne _ inch of it to his advantage, and Mustang’s eyes slip to follow Ed’s fingers, linger on the hair, and then snap back to Ed’s face. 

( _ Ha.  _ Everyone’s a fuckin’ sucker for the hair, even douchebags like Mustang.)

Confident in his win, Ed smiles. It’s bright and blinding and _fake,_ and it’s a better fake smile than Mustang could make _any day._

“Oh, dancin’ is the answer, of course,” Ed answers flippantly, “even if your partner is only  _ perfectly tolerable.” _

Mustang’s eyes widen just a touch, and the tips of his ears go the barest shade pinker. That’s right,  _ fuck you, you bastard. _

 

~

 

Ed thinks, at some point during the last couple of hours of the dance, while he’s dancing with Al in a round, that he feels eyes on him. Following him.

But no, definitely not. That would be crazy. He’s just being fuckin’ paranoid; he spends too much time alone at the goddamn house, and he’s just anxious ‘cause there’s so many fuckin’ people around. Maybe he  _ should _ take Nina’s advice and go to town more often.

He thinks about it for a second, then  _ full-body shudders, _ almost dislodging Al’s hand from his own as they and four others shuffle around in a circle to fast-paced music. Town is  _ gross.  _ Almost as gross as having to be near so many sweaty, smelly people in this stupid, sweaty dance hall.

But, Al’s here. Al’s here and he’s flushed and smiling , and that’s enough for the moment.

 

~

 

Finally,  _ blissfully, _ sometime around 2:00 in the morning, they get home. It takes  _ way  _ too long to get Nina wound down enough to convince her to go to bed, but after they do, Ed and Al all but crawl to their own room and collapse in their bunk bed. The top bunk seems so far away that Ed almost considers sleeping on the floor - he’s done it before, it’s not  _ that _ bad - but Al pesters until he forces himself to peel off his gross party clothes and painfully drag himself up the ladder.

It’s not until they’re both in bed, sleepy but with brains still whirring, that Al speaks. 

He speaks in soft tones, like he has a secret that’s just for Ed to hear. It’s how they used to speak all the time, when they first got to Pinako’s (they were just kids, sad and scared and alone and  _ Ishvalan,  _ too used to people who didn’t even like their  _ own _ orphans, never mind brown kids from a country they had massacred out of misplaced fear) and it sends such an intense  _ grief-guilt-nostalgia _ feeling coursing through Ed that it leaves him momentarily breathless.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye is just what a young officer ought to be,” Al is saying, “She’s sensible, good humoured -”

“Handsome,  _ conveniently _ rich -” Ed adds, mostly teasing, once he’s caught his breath from climbing.

The sharp  _ tut _ he gets for his efforts is worth it. “You know perfectly well I don’t believe marriage should be driven by thoughts of money.”

“And you know I know that, and that I agree. Only somethin’ fuckin’ spectacular could tempt me into marriage, and money definitely isn’t it. That’s why I’m gonna be an old fuckin’ maid.” Ed tosses and turns until he’s laying on his flesh shoulder, automail hand jammed up beneath the pillow.

A moment of quiet. Then, -

“Do you really think she liked me, brother?”

“Al, buddy, she danced with you for most of the fuckin’ night.”

“I will admit I was… flattered.” Ed snorts, and Al sighs good-naturedly. It’s a very different sound from his long-suffering or angry sighs: Ed is intimately familiar with the differences.

“Well, that’s one difference between us. You’re always surprised by compliments, like you genuinely don’t know you’re the hottest piece of ass within a hundred miles of this place.” Al chokes on a laugh, but Ed barrels on. “Hawkeye sure  _ seems _ nice, even if she’s fuckin’ military, so I  _ might _ give you permission to like her. Ishvala knows you’ve liked  _ stupider _ people.”

“Brother!” Al is definitely giggling now, like a schoolgirl with a secret.

“You’re too fuckin’ nice to people in general, though. Especially  _ military  _ people. You’re way too fuckin’ fond of innocent until proven guilty, or nice until proven shitty.”

Al stops giggling and gives another sigh. It’s the longsuffering one this time. “Well, I definitely don’t like her friend. Or, superior, I suppose, as he’s a Colonel and she’s a Lieutenant. Either way, I can’t  _ believe _ what he said about you,” he says eventually.

It makes Ed viciously fuckin’ happy that the  _ one _ time Al verbally proclaims he doesn’t like someone, it’s on his behalf. Then again, thinking about Mustang makes Ed want to  _ rip something apart with his bare hands,  _ and he’s not entirely sure if it’s because of Mustang’s stupid pretty face or his rude fuckin’ attitude or his place in the Ishvala-damned fuckin’ military.

Either way, it’s probably time for him to go to sleep before he does something he regrets with this rage that’s bubbling under his skin. It’s almost overwhelming right now, but he knows it’ll be manageable by morning. Probably. He tends to get rage-y when he’s tired, which is why he’s never exactly been a morning person.

“Brother?” Al prompts.

Fuck, he’s been quiet for too long. “What, Colonel Bastard? I’d probably forgive him for woundin’ my pride if he weren’t so fuckin’ smug about himself.” 

And it’s even the truth!

“Mmhm,” is all Al says in response, disbelieving, before he blows out the kerosene lamp and plunges them into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr at rewmariewrites.tumblr.com! I'd love to hear from you!


	3. Scene 2.5: Meryton Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tips of Roy’s ears go pink. “Mm. He’s perfectly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be so busy tomorrow, so have your update early! It's short, but last week's update was pretty long, so it works out. <3  
> these little interludes will usually be by a non-Ed narrator, and there definitely won't be one for every chapter, but I hope you like them! they're meant to add a little depth to the narrative and the characters in the same way those little moments (the facial expressions, the hand touch, etc) in the movies and shows do.

When Riza finally takes a moment away from Alphonse and dancing, it's in the one relatively quiet corner of the dance hall which Roy has been haunting for the _entire night._  

It is, incidentally, also where she and Roy were introduced to the Rockbells earlier. They end up standing close enough to the Rockbells that they might possibly be overheard by the young man currently occupying their table, but Riza is fairly confident that the din of laughter, music, and dancing will somewhat mask any conversation she and Roy might have.  Not that their conversations ever tend to have much in the way of content; she and Roy have, over the years, perfected the ability to and speak without actually speaking.

The young man - Riza thinks she remembers that his name is Edward, but she was so thoroughly distracted by Alphonse that her memory of the rest of the Rockbell family is a little fuzzy - is alone at the Rockbell’s table. He's obviously been named the designated table-saver; he looks like a disgruntled dragon, scowling and guarding his hoard of handbags, coats, and drinks.  His hair shines almost like gold in the dim light of the dance hall _(like the golden scales of the Xerxian dragons of legend)_ and he has his red jacket pulled tightly around him despite the humid and sweaty heat, as if to protect himself from the crowds. Though Riza would love to get to know Alphonse’s favourite sibling, his expression is closed off in a way that suggests that any attempts at niceties would end… poorly. Edward mostly likely would not be rude - for his brother’s sake, if nothing else - but Riza is fairly certain that his good opinion would be more easily earned by maintaining a respectful distance, for now.

Roy sighs to her right - breaking her from her careful sidelong consideration of the elder Elric brother - and she surveys him briefly from the corner of her eye before dismissing his moroseness as typical, and covertly searching around the room for a glimpse of that gorgeous platinum hair. She’s  _ not _ looking for Alphonse, not really, she’s just - she’s evaluating the room for threats and exits. 

Well. She’s multitasking.

Another sigh comes from Roy, and Riza has to physically restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“Colonel, you should dance," she cajoles, "I hate to see you standing by yourself like this when I know how beautifully you dance.” 

It’s true; Roy dances with a grace unparallelled, and knows the steps to every dance he’s ever come across. She’s been his partner, willingly and  _ less _ than willingly many times over the years, in many scenarios. 

As an added bonus, if he were dancing, he wouldn’t be lurking in this corner like a ghoul, scaring everyone he comes across with that terrifying fake smile.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see black hair flying - he’s shaking his head. “You know I detest it. I may pretend to socialize well, but I draw the line at dancing.” 

That is also true. Despite the disadvantage of that frankly  _awful_ smile, Riza has seen Roy charm the wedding ring off the hands of three separate married women, in one night, just to prove that he can. Of course, he immediately isolated himself for an entire week afterwards, but the point is that he's outstanding at social endeavors when he needs to be. 

If he were given a choice, Riza knows that Roy would much rather be at Pemberly with only Elicia for company.  If it weren’t for his all-consuming desire to change the world, to ensure another tragedy like Ishval never happens again, she knows she would never again see him outside the comfort of his home.  _I already have an heir in Elicia,_ he always says,  _and you and Elicia have spoiled me for enjoying the company of others. No one else can match your eloquence and wit._

That being said, he does have a certain…  _ weakness _ for a beautiful countenance.

“I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place in my life.” Riza mentions casually, keeping careful eyes on the crowd while still observing Roy in her peripheral vision.

“You are dancing with the only handsome person in the room,” Roy declares.

“Oh, Alphonse is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” Riza says with a small sigh, before she can stop herself.  She sees Roy turn minutely to give her a  _ look,  _ and she bristles before turning her head to give him a  _ look _ right back. When she does, she notices the way he’s  _ very carefully _ not paying any attention to the Rockbell’s table. Every part of his body is turned away from it, and his shoulders are tense in a way that means he’s  _ hiding  _ something.  After a moment of careful consideration, Riza says: “His older brother, Edward, is quite beautiful as well.”

The tips of Roy’s ears go pink. “Mm. He’s perfectly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

_ Is that so, _ Riza thinks, as she maintains eye contact and raises one careful eyebrow.

Roy averts his eyes. It’s only for a moment - he immediately catches himself and meets Riza’s  _ entirely _ judgemental gaze with a stubborn set to his jaw -but it’s still enough to incriminate him.  Riza now knows that Roy thinks the oldest Rockbell ward is gorgeous. In addition, Roy knows that she knows that he thinks Edward is stunning, and Riza knows that Roy knows that she knows that this whole situation makes him entirely uncomfortable in a way that makes him want to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

Long story short, Roy is uncomfortable, and he also thinks that Edward is likely to refuse him if he asks for a dance, which is… unlikely. Surely Edward would agree to at least one dance, if only to appear polite?

Riza communicates this thought to Roy with a twitch of her raised eyebrow and a slight purse of her lips, and gets an elbow to the ribs for her troubles. 

“You had better return to your partner and enjoy his smiles, for you are wasting your time with me,” Mustang mutters, the tips of his ears still red. The  _ ‘I will endeavor to make your life incredibly difficult if you continue to harangue me’  _ is implied through the twist of his lips and the glint in his eyes.

Riza narrows her eyes at Roy, who narrows his eyes right back. They wage their silent war for a minute or two, but Riza has unending patience and unyielding resolve. She doesn't break eye contact until she's  _sure_ that he knows if he were to start a war of  _'who can make whose life more difficult,'_ she comes out on top. She's in charge of how much paperwork he receives, after all, and she will use that to her advantage with no inconsiderable amount of glee. She wins this fight every time.

 

Roy shifts slightly, petulant, and breaks eye contact to stare sullenly out across the sea of people. 

When she looks back towards the crowds herself - a little smugly, she will admit - she  _finally_ spots a platinum-blonde head bobbing its way through the crows towards her.

Feeling generous in her victory, Riza gives Roy a small smile as she begins to make her way towards Alphonse. Roy scowls impressively after her, but she graciously ignores it in favour of finding white-blonde hair and breathtaking golden eyes. 

Roy’s inferiority complex can wait. Riza has a beautiful man to dance with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr @ rewmariewrites.tumblr.com!

**Author's Note:**

> updates will tentatively be thursdays, until I run out of pre-written content <3


End file.
